Ann Lethbridge - Captured for the Captain's Pleasure

She glanced at the fine linen of his shirt covering his arm. ‘It is healing, then?’

‘It is,’ he said gravely. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’m glad.’ She felt more pleased than she ought. She pressed her lips together to hold back a smile.

He shifted in his chair, drawing up one booted foot to rest on his knee. Another display of beautiful male muscles.

Blast. She had to stop thinking about his physique or he’d mesmerise her into telling him something she did not want him to know. Like her father’s coffers had a very big hole in the bottom.

‘Tell me more about Westerly. Is it large? Are there stables?’

‘Naturally, there are stables.’ Fine empty ones these days.

He swirled his wineglass. ‘Do you hunt, Miss Fulton?’

She shook her head. ‘I spend most of my time in London. If I want to ride, I hire a hack. Do you hunt, sir?’

His eyelids lowered a fraction and his teeth flashed white. A pirate’s grin, sly and devastatingly attractive. ‘Only ships.’

Irritation warred with feminine desire. ‘I imagine it is an occupation that provides little occasion for riding around the countryside.’

His smile disappeared. ‘You imagine correctly.’

‘You are missing a sport most gentlemen find exhilarating.’

Apparently deciding to ignore her barb, he inclined his head. ‘Thank you for the recommendation. What do you do in London?’

No doubt he expected her to list the usual social whirl of balls and routs, but for some reason she didn’t want him to think her so frippery. ‘Mostly I help my father. I am also a member of the committee raising funds for St Thomas’s Hospital’s new surgery.’

He curled his lip. ‘A sterling member of society, in fact.’

He made it sound as if she was bragging. She pressed her lips together and returned her gaze to the board.

‘And you expect me to believe your father has but one ship?’

She winced. She scarcely believed it herself. ‘Why should it be of concern to you?’

Candlelight danced in his bright aquamarine eyes. A mocking smile curved his lips, as if he was somehow enjoying their verbal sparring. He reminded her of a cat toying with a mouse. A very large, very dangerous, cat with enormous claws. ‘I only want my due, Miss Fulton.’

‘Your due?’ She couldn’t help how incredulous she sounded. ‘How would you feel if some stranger stole the bread from the mouths of your wife and family?’

A muscle flickered in his jaw. ‘I have no family.’

‘A rolling stone?’ She arched a brow. ‘Or perhaps none you care to own to.’

‘Miss Fulton, I would never abandon a child of mine. I hope, for your sake, your father is equally responsible.’

Her stomach gave a sick little lurch. What her father would do depended on whether he could raise any more credit.

He leaned forwards and blocked her samurai knight with a well-placed geisha-pawn.

‘Check,’ he said. ‘What about your prospects—is there no wedding in your future?’

‘I haven’t yet met a man I prefer.’

‘There was talk of an engagement a few years ago, I heard. To some minor Scottish family.’ He raised a brow.

Her body stilled. Pain squeezed her chest as raw as the day Selina had told her of Andrew’s treachery. How did this pirate know? Had his capture of their ship been more than a crime of opportunity?

Her fingers shook as her hand hovered over her monk. If she tried to pick it up, she might drop it.

She returned her hand to her lap as if she’d changed her mind about which piece to move, aware that his silence required an answer.

‘We did not suit,’ she said carelessly. Andrew only wanted her money. His profession of love was naught but a false coin.

‘Rumour has it you are an unconscionable flirt. That you were looking higher. For a title.’

Lies to cover Andrew’s chagrin when she cried off.

‘How would you know this ancient news?’ she asked. It had happened so long ago, even the ton had forgotten.

He shrugged. ‘I have friends. I hear gossip from time to time. Fulton’s is well known among sailors.’

A truth.

Feeling calmer, she reached for the decanter and poured him a glass of wine with a smile, hoping to distract him from this line of questioning.

‘Join me,’ he said.

A command. She shrugged and filled her glass.

‘Where did you go to school?’ she asked.

He frowned at her. ‘Me?’

‘I assumed you received some sort of education. You don’t sound like a common seaman.’

For once his insouciance seemed to slip. His lips flattened, his eyes grew hard. ‘I learned all I know before the mast.’ The tang of bitterness colouring his voice sent warning prickles across her shoulders. Yet she wanted to know more of this man’s history. She waved a nonchalant hand. ‘Why did you leave England for America?’

He grimaced. ‘Not of my own volition, I assure you.’

Deported? It was possible. Britain had long been sending her criminals abroad. Or might he have fled? A horrid vision popped into her mind. ‘Did you kill your man at dawn?’ Over some woman.

He snorted. ‘Duelling is a waste of time. There are far better ways to satisfy honour. Tell me why the Conchita was flying a Spanish flag?’

Another change of direction. Conversing with this man was like balancing on the edge of a knife. One slip and you’d be cut to ribbons. She found the whole thing exhausting.

‘There were rumours of privateers.’ A wry smile twisted her lips. ‘They proved correct.’

‘It was your idea, wasn’t it?’

She nodded.

‘Well, let me thank you for making my work easier.’

Her palm itched with the desire to slap the supercilious expression from his face. Instead, she regally bent her neck. ‘Glad to be of service.’

A laugh of genuine amusement rumbled up from his chest, low and warm. It strummed a chord low in her belly. She scowled.

‘You are certainly an enterprising woman,’ he said.

Time to give him another surprise. The number of her pieces scattered on his side of the board proved he’d played well, if cautiously. Now she would bring their evening to a close. She moved her monk. ‘Checkmate.’

He recoiled, staring at the board. ‘Good God.’

Another man who thought women didn’t have any mental capacity. She smiled tightly. ‘Thank you for a close-run game.’

He glanced up at her face, shock lingering in his eyes like shadows. ‘I had no idea how much I’d forgotten.’

At least he hadn’t accused her of cheating as one gentleman had. ‘You played well enough.’

Staring at the board, he gulped down his wine, his Adam’s apple rising and falling as he swallowed. He leaned forwards, gaze intent, as if replaying the game. Finally he looked up at her, with a sort of boyish eagerness that robbed her of breath. ‘Where did I go wrong?’

With effort, she gathered her thoughts. ‘I took advantage of your mistakes.’

He didn’t look the slightest bit insulted by her honesty. She found herself liking him for that. Blast it. She really did have no sense when it came to men. ‘Then I must do better. Next time.’

There wasn’t going to be a next time. She hoped.

He cocked his head, listening. ‘The hour grows late.’

She heard only the breeze singing in the rigging and the slap of the waves against the hull from the open window. She glanced at him questioningly.

‘The men are all abed, except those on watch.’

The revelry outside had died away long ago. She’d been too intent on their game and fielding his sharp questions to notice the passage of time. She swallowed. ‘I should leave.’

‘I have many more questions. Drink your wine, Miss Fulton.’ He gestured at her glass. ‘Come, a toast.’